


Family (Of some mismatched pieces)

by Kayoi1234



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Blanket Permission, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, I never use y/n it looks jarring, If you think fallen angels are irredeemable, Like none of the adoption is legal but eh, Maybe I'll give our dad a name later, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Someone loses an arm, Video Game Mechanics, alt title: Local mercenary becomes a father of three fallen angel kids because they are all orphans, let me remind you, mentions of peking duck and his nuking of an entire town, or the bat man complex, with out vigilantism, you can raise the damn things from embryos.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayoi1234/pseuds/Kayoi1234
Summary: You have to remember. They aren't just Fallen Angels. They're kids too.(Or like a puzzle made of pieces that don't belong together yet they still fit, a mercenary-for-hire takes them in, one by one, because children are children, and they deserve this.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Food Fantasy. 
> 
> Aha so like I got into the game because of, ahem, _reasons_ (I blame a friend), and like, it's cool I guess, I have four URs because I like flexing on my friends who been playing longer than me. 
> 
> This fic is chock-full of headcanons, the only food soul that speaks is Tempura, and Fallen Angels that are considered evolved are now my adopted children. Change my mind. 
> 
> (Also, I've prewritten all the chapters, but I'll be posting them all today because I do not know self control)

**i. C A T A L Y S T**

You were foolish once.

Fresh out of school, a Cooking Attendant that wished to make an impact on the world, and where did that get you?

In a hospital bed, missing an arm because an Uke Mochi had attacked you and eaten that arm before you stabbed it in the head and it had died at your feet, it’s corpse turning cold as you collapse and start screaming, because your arm is gone, and losing a limb is like losing a best friend, and so you scream and scream and scream.

No one visits your hospital room. They fit you with a prosthetic made out of carbon-fibre and steel, and you clench your jaw and don’t say anything.

**ii. M E R C E N A R Y**

You hand in the resignation form to the Guild.

You still have your Cooking Attendant Licence, but instead of opening a restaurant, and summoning Food Souls for hire, you become a travelling mercenary, taking jobs that others didn’t want to do.

You travel the world, never lingering in one place for too long. Sentimentality is what gets people killed, so no one ever joins you.

You are a lone wanderer. There’s nothing more to it than that.

**iii. S M O K E**

You smell smoke.

Smoke often means fire, so you go towards it, hoping that’s it’s nobody and just someone smoking meats for curing.

Of course, it’s not. You pick up the pace when you hear screaming, and skid to a stop when you sight a town engulfed in flames.

You don’t waste time. You run in and help as many people escape the collapsing structures, pulling out everyone from the burning rubble, and when the last person is pulled to safety and directed towards the town’s exit, a fireball launches itself at you and tries to take your other arm.

A man with a long braid and a pipe stares at you with cold, golden eyes, and you realise that it’s a Food Soul staring at you, and putting two and two together, you realise that this is the person responsible for setting an entire town ablaze.

You draw your sword, shift a leg back as the Food Soul surveys you with a cold glare.

And then, with a yell, he attacks.

**iv. H U S K**

The Food Soul escapes, and you are left in the remains in the broken husk of a town decimated by fire.

You sheathe your sword, turn, and walk out of the empty shell of a town.

There’s nothing left here. Time to move on.

**v.** **A F T E R M A T H**

You are a mercenary-for-hire. You don’t have the cleanest of hands, but you get the job done. There’s just two things people needed to be reminded of when they ask for your services.

First, you never go after kids, not even Fallen Angel children. Because children are children, and you aren’t that kind of person.

The second is that if they ask something concerning a certain fire-wielding Food Soul, you’ll refuse them.

Because, well, you don’t really want to associate with… _them_ , any more than you have to.


	2. Chapter 2

**i. T O B E G I N**

You hear a kid crying whilst travelling through rural areas of the Nevras region.

You make haste towards it, only to make sure the kid isn’t hurt or dying, and when you arrive to a stretch of beach surrounded by natural rock pools, you see what had happened.

Traces of a battle, with long blade cuts into the sand, made wet with both blood and sweat, and the traces of remaining Food Soul skills. There’s a scent of bamboo rice in the air, mixed with chocolate, coffee and milk, along side the strong scent of black tea.

In the centre of it all, there lies a Queen Conch, her neck slashed and her shell riddled with bullet holes. And next to her corpse, hugging their knees and sobbing, is a Conchi.

She might be a fallen angel, but children are children, so you go up to the crying child.

**ii. P A I N A N D G R I E F**

She cries for a very long time.

When she stops crying, and looks up from her arms to see you, crouched in front of her, staring with a quiet frown, she points at the dead Queen Conch and says “Mama. Dead.”

You reach out with your prosthetic hand, but stop just before you reach her. “I’m sorry,” you say, twisting to sit in the sand.

The Fallen An – no, _kid_ – reaches out and grasps at the carbon-fibre digits, moving the fingers and she touches the palm of your hand and asks “Hurts?”

You nod. “Especially when it rains.”

“It rained earlier.”

“That it did.”

You stand up, and she stands up too, and before long, you are leaving Nevras with a Fallen Angel child clutching your hand.

**iii. T H E R E P L I C A**

The kid’s name is Umi, which is oddly appropriate, considering who she is.

Her name, and her quick grasp on the English language is helpful in many situations, especially in the middle of Gloriville Market. When Umi meets another Conchi in the middle of the street, she stops and turns to stare at the Conchi.

That Conchi stops, and stares too. 

“You’re,” Umi starts, staring at the Fallen Angel before her. “Like me…”

The Conchi stops, and stares back, before tugging on the arm of the Food Soul she was following. The Food Soul turns, and asks “What’s the matter, Conchi?”

Umi freezes, and turns to you. “What…What’s going on?”

The Food Soul notices you, and does a sort of laugh, before offering a hand. “Oh hey! I’m Tempura! Nice to meet you! And this is Conchi!”

You stand there, stock stiff, and shake his hand. You introduce yourself, and then gesture to Umi. “And this is my daughter, Umi.”

Umi makes a startled noise, before shaking her head and clutching at your hand, her fingers curling against your carbon-fibre ones. “Hi.”

The other Conchi makes a warbled noise in reply, and Umi tugs at your hand and asks quietly “Can we go?”

You nod, say your goodbyes to Tempura, and taking her by the hand, walk away from the busy market, and go back to the city outskirts.

**iv. Q U E S T I O N S**

When the two of you set up camp near a lake, Umi picks at the cooked rice and grilled fish that night, stirring it around, seemingly deep in thought.

“Everything alright there, Umi?” you ask, pausing.

Umi stops her stirring, and looks at you. “Why couldn’t that Conchi speak English?”

You set your chopsticks down on top of your bowl, and set it aside, and go to sit next to her, letting her set down her own bowl and crawl into your lap.

“I think, she was hatched via purification.” You say, reaching up to start braiding her short hair.

“What’s that?”

“It when a Cooking Attendant takes a Fallen Angel Embryo, they hatch them through purification, in order to create a more…err… _docile_ Fallen. It also speeds up their growth process, and most come out fully born.” You explain, finding one of the braids to be uneven and undoing it to start again. “However, this results in a sort of… _lag_ , where the mind isn’t as developed as the body. And that causes complications.”

You pause for a minute, and pat Umi on the head. “How old are you?”

“I’m 10!” She answers, and you chuckle.

“That you are. You remember that Conchi we met today? Mentally, she would have only been 2 to 3 months old at most.”

“That’s…weird.” Umi says, and you lightly swat her on the head.

“It’s not weird, just…different. They still have the same capacity to learn, just a little bit slower.” You say, and she nods in understanding.

“So…I got lucky?”

“Very. If you were born in the catacombs, then I don’t think we would have met at all.”

Umi makes a startled squawk and turns to you, her eyes burning with determination. “No way! I would have met you no matter the circumstances!”

You laugh. “Of course, of course.”

**v. T H E R E S U L T**

You are a mercenary-for-hire, and you travel with your adopted 10-year-old daughter. Your daughter is a Fallen Angel, but that’s okay, because she likes it when you’re happy, and you want her to be happy, so she sticks by you in hopes of doing so.

She likes dancing, and the ocean, and cool looking bugs, and for all intents and purposes, she’s just an 10-year-old girl who could potentially change the world one day.

Of course, she _tries_ to help with your mercenary work, which you absolutely prohibit, but yet she still helps anyway and no amount of reprimanding her will ever stop that habit, so you let her help you on the less grisly of jobs.

You are a father. She’s your daughter. There’s nothing more to it than that.


	3. Chapter 3

**i. B R E W I N G**

The two of you are doing a catacombs run, walking past the mossy stone walls that are covered in childish drawings of history, when Umi whips her head towards the end of the hallway and squints in the darkness.

You stop as well, and take a look.

Then a scream punches through the air, followed by the smell of strong alcohol, the both of you turn to each other and nod, before sprinting down the hallway, praying that you aren’t too late.

**ii. T O C O M E O F A G E**

You’re too late.

You push Umi back as a Food Soul wielding a sword leaps up and stabs an Aizen through the eye, killing it, and Umi has her hands covering her mouth in attempt to muffle her own screaming.

The Cooking Attendant, either oblivious or not paying attention, tells their team that they’re leaving, and after picking up the spoils from their battle, they leave for the entrance of the catacombs.

You strain your ears, and when you can no longer hear their footsteps, you cautiously walk out of your hiding place, and Umi sticks close to you, hugging your arm as you kneel down and take a look at the downed Aizen.

That’s when Umi tugs at your arm, and a loud “ _Papa!”_ sounds out, and an Amazake, who looked no older than 9 or 10, stumbles as they run towards the downed Aizen, clutching a wine jar to their chest.

“Dad,” Umi begins, as you stand up and take a step back to let the young boy reach his father. "Do you think…”

You nod, and you let the boy grieve.

**iii. B I N D I N G**

After a while, you approach the boy with empty hands, and you kneel down next to him, careful not to step in the Aizen’s already cooling blood.

“Hey there buddy,” you say, a hand resting on your knee. “Mind telling me your name?”

The Amazake scrubs at his face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks on his cheeks, before sniffling and quietly replying “Hoshi.”

You smile, and introduce yourself, before gesturing to Umi. “And that’s Umi. She’s my daughter.”

“But you’re human. She’s a Fallen Angel.”

“I know. And yet, I don’t think it changes anything at all.”

You offer your hand, and, hesitantly, Hoshi reaches out for it.

When you and Umi leave the catacombs, there’s a little 10-year-old boy clutching your hand as you walk out.

**iv. D I S T I L L A T I O N**

The three of you are in a restaurant, and Hoshi’s nose twitches before he tugs on your arm, and you turn to him, and quietly ask “What’s the matter?”

“I smell alcohol.” Hoshi says quietly, and you furrow your brow.

“What kind?”

Hoshi’s brow furrows, seemingly deep in thought. “It smells like…rice? Maybe? It’s from the table behind us.”

You lean back slightly, and turn your head just enough to look at the table behind you.

There’s a man, looking like he has had too much to drink, harassing others, and spitting our curses with every sentence. You turn back to Umi, whose gripping the table hard enough that there are cracks forming in the unvarnished wood.

“Umi,” you whisper, your tone giving off the warning bells of _danger_ , “your hands. The _table_.”

Umi blinks, before looking down and letting go of the table. “Sorry, it’s just…that guy behind you…he smells very, well, _spring town_.”

You narrow your eyes. “Town square or outskirts?”

“Outskirts.”

You quietly swear under your breath, and Hoshi mutters how that’s a coin in the swear jar, and then all the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“Kids,” you say quietly, standing up from the table, a hand on your sword. The Cooking Attendant seems to have noticed as well, seeing as they’re talking to a boy with a giant gun about the customer behind you. “We’re gonna go. Make sure not to forget anything.”

Umi slides out her seat, and so does Hoshi, and that’s when the flaming tail slams onto the table you were just sitting at, and it draws back, and you follow it with your eyes until you meet the eyes of the Aizen, enraged, tail flicking from side to side.

Your hand is on your sword, and the food souls from the kitchens come out to fight the Fallen Angel off, so you herd your kids outside, and decide to just make lunch yourself.

**v. F I N A L C U R T A I N C A L L**

You are a mercenary-for-hire. You travel the continent with your adopted 11-year-old daughter and your 10-year-old son.

Hoshi is an Amazake, and a fallen angel at that, but in the end it doesn’t really matter. He likes books and cats and hates spinach. For all intents and purposes, he’s just a 10-year-old kid who you want to live in a safer world.

You are their father. They are, un-surprisingly, your kids. And you wouldn’t change that for anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**i. H E A T E X H A U S T I O N**

The shimmering heat, alongside the orange peaks of the sand dunes of Palata are what hide the kid at first.

But Hoshi does trip over them, laying face-first in the sand, unconscious and body feeling feverish, so you hoist the kid onto your back and ignore the bird feet the kid has, or the feathers that fall off their back and shoulders.

The next city, thankfully, was only an hour away. So, shedding the kid’s cloak and throwing it over their head, you and your kids make way to the next city in haste.

**ii. C A S U A L T Y**

The kid comes too as Umi sponges their face with cold water.

They blink, unsure, and look at you as you come in to check on them. You can tell that they’re Garuda now, hair tied into a spiked up pony-tail, eyes white, skin dark. There’s feathers sticking out of their hair, and they clutch their feather cloak closer to them, bird talons as long as your forearm flexing. Hoshi enters the room afterwards, hold a bottle of cold water and a bucket of ice.

“Hey there buddy? You doing okay?” you ask, and the Garuda nods their head.

You smile. “That’s good to hear. You know where your parents are?”

The Garuda furrows their brow, unsure, before saying, “I…don’t know. Me and Maman got attacked in the sandstorm and we got separated…I remember…collapsing and then I woke up here.”

You sit on the end of the bed, taking the bottle of water from Hoshi and handing it to the Garuda, who takes a large gulp of the liquid inside, before resting the bottle in their lap. Hoshi sits next to you, passing the bucket of ice to Umi, who takes some of it and wraps it in a spare tea towel, draping it over their neck.

“When we found you kid,” you begin, watching them carefully, “you had a nasty case of heat exhaustion.”

The Garuda frowns. “Oh…” they say, falling silent.

Umi worries the edge of a shell, her face scrunched up in thought before she nods, and sticks out her hand to the Garuda. “I’m Umi! This is my brother, Hoshi!” She introduces, gesturing to Hoshi, before gesturing to you and introducing you as her father. “So, what’s your name?” she asks, hand still stuck out towards the Garuda.

The Garuda blinks, before shaking the offered hand. “My name is Sora. It’s…nice to meet you.”

When the three of you leave the city good and proper, there’s a 15 year old kid following close behind.

**iii. E M B E R**

Sora has a pouch in their hands, and they’re staring at it with a confused frown, wondering about the contents inside.

“Hey,” they begin, opening it up and taking out one of the onion shaped things inside. “Why did that lady pay us in this? I thought gold was the main currency…”

You were about to answer when Umi skips up next to Sora, and takes the pouch, weighing it in her hands. “Well, Dad said they were Soul Embers, and they’re really only for Cooking Attendants and stuff. Normally he just drops them off as a tip at the next restaurant we decide to splurge our gold on, so he never uses them.”

“Also, in the reasoning why we got the embers,” Hoshi says, catching up to his sister and Sora, and slowing down to walk next to them, “Dad actually still has his Cooking Attendant license, he just doesn’t really want to settle down and open a restaurant. He was going too, but he lost his arm in an incident with an Uke Mochi and he never ended up doing it. Also said there was an incident with a Food Soul, so that’s why he never keeps the embers for any longer than he has too.”

“Huh,” Sora says, dropping the ember back into the pouch. “So he used to be a Cooking Attendant?”

Umi shakes her head. “He actually still is, legally speaking, he just never flaunts it around like other Cooking Attendants.”

“He did say he did consider settling down at some point, and opening a café. Said it’s better for us kids for us not to travel so much.” Hoshi supplies, which Umi makes a sound of protest.

“I like travelling! What’s wrong with that?” Umi asks, whipping around to face you.

You blink, and say, deadpan: “You don’t learn how to do the things they teach you in school.”

“And so? I know how to gut a fish! _And_ debone it!”

“Uhm, Umi, I don’t think human kids are meant to know how to do that…”

“Zip it Hoshi!”

Sora chuckles and you smile at them, and you make a gesture at the bickering pair, as if to say _“See? They’re good kids.”_

**iv. T R A G E D Y**

You take the kids for another catacomb run at both Umi and Hoshi’s insistence, and Sora comes along because their mother might be there, so the four of you go to enter, when the sounds of battle reach your ears.

Soon, all of you are breaking into a sprint, running for the entrance, and skidding to a stop when you see a Thundura caw at the Food Souls and their Master Attendant surrounding it. Her wings were already torn, bleeding out, as well as an eye that had been blinded, body riddled with bullet holes, and yet, here she was, fighting until her last breath.

Sora whispers _“Maman_ ” next to you, and you keep a hand on their shoulder in order to prevent them from rushing forward. Your other arm is wrapped around Hoshi’s shoulders as he buries his face into your shirt. Umi is standing next to you, hands over her mouth, horrified.

The Thundura gives out one, last, screeching cry before she crashes to the floor, unmoving, dying from a mix of blood loss and poison from an earlier cooking talent. The Master attendant nods, before they and their team walk into the catacombs, and that’s when you and your kids approach the body.

Sora goes first, kneeling down next to their mother’s body and just kneeling there, tears silently falling as they stare at their mother’s eyes.

You and the other kids stay back, giving Sora the time to properly grieve.

When they are done, they stand up, walk towards you, and ask if they accompany you on your travels with you and your children.

You smile, and say they’re welcome to join.

**v. T H E F I N A L E**

You are a mercenary-for-hire. You travel with a 12-year-old daughter, a 11-year-old son, and the newest edition of a 15-year-old teenager who doesn’t really want to identify as a girl or a boy, but that’s okay, because they can be who they want to be.

Sora is 15, and yet, they still require someone to look after them. They wake up with their nightmares, all of your kids do, but it’s okay, because he like hot chocolate and drawing, and there’s nothing separating them from a 15-year-old child.

You, unsurprisingly, are their father. They, without a doubt, are your kids. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://pkmn-trainer44.tumblr.com/) and [here!](https://kayoiwritingarchivies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
